Vulcan Medicine
by Amanda Larson
Summary: The new doctor aboard the Enterprise accomplishes the impossible: she actually manages to make Spock miss McCoy.  Original character.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Viacom, Inc. and Paramount, Inc. I wrote this story purely for fun and have received no monetary benefit from it._

_Author note: Thank you for the reviews! I was scared to death to post my first story, and the encouragement really helps. Suggestions for improvement are also very welcome._

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><p><span>Vulcan Medicine<span>

By Amanda Larson

Chapter One

"Sorry to wake you, Doc. Urgent message from Starfleet."

"Whatizzit?"

"It's the starship _Enterprise_. Their chief medical officer is sick. Hep R. They just checked him in over here, and they need a replacement."

Clarinda Hollick rubbed her eyes and squinted at the clock. 2 a.m. "I don't have any authority over the hospital staff," she said to the intercom. "You need to get Dr. Koury to assign someone."

"They want you."

Claire stopped mid-yawn. "What?"

"They want someone with Starfleet experience. You're the only MD on the base who went through the Academy."

"That doesn't make any sense." Wide awake now, Claire flipped on the desk lamp and found her glasses. "I've got a research appointment; I hardly ever set foot in the hospital."

"I know, but Commander Ford said it would be a good idea. Keep Starfleet happy. You know." The young administrator sounded apologetic. "They want you to report first thing in the morning."

Claire thought of her lab, all the flasks lined up in the coolers like fine wines. A face passed through her mind, green-skinned and pointy-eared. "I'll be there," she said.

She hastily pulled her hair into a ponytail and exchanged her pajamas for an old pair of gray sweats. Her hands were shaking a bit. A starship! She hadn't been on one in 8 years. That was when she'd finally managed to convince Starfleet to station her in a permanent research facility. That first lab had been on Earth, where she had isolated the agents responsible for mitochondrial cancer. Now she was at a better facility on Starbase 6, and she thought a cure might be in her grasp, maybe in the next 10 years.

At least her team was top-notch. They could carry on without her for at least a couple of months. Of course, if the _Enterprise's_ doctor had Rigelian hepatitis it could be longer than a couple of months. He probably wouldn't recover at all, and who knew how long it would take them to find a permanent replacement? She'd better wake Lara and Hal up. There was a lot to organize in the lab. She would need to take culture 2245 with her – she hadn't had time to teach them the replication technique yet. Claire grabbed her knapsack, took a last look around her cozy livingroom, and left for the lab.

Four hours later, stomach tight and new blue uniform itching, she was materializing in a brightly lit transporter room. A very handsome man in a gold shirt was smiling at her, and behind him stood….Dammit! Not a Vulcan! Claire took a deep breath and stepped down from the pad, extending her hand to the captain. Her eyes widened when he told her his name. She hadn't made the connection before. Often lost in her lab work on the isolated Starbase, she was sadly out of touch. Everyone knew who James T. Kirk was, but she had forgotten that the _Enterprise_ was his ship. She realized now who was standing behind him. Kirk turned and introduced her to the lanky Vulcan, the one whose work she had read with great admiration.

Spock shook her hand firmly. "Doctor," was all he said. His face might have been cast in marble. Even the dark, coffee-colored eyes were hard.

Kirk put a hand on her elbow. "I'll take you to sickbay first, Doctor. You'll want to see if there's any equipment you need to beam aboard before we leave."

They walked down the crowded corridor. Claire felt her heart beat a little faster in time with the bustling crew. She had forgotten the feeling of a fully manned starship preparing to leave dock. It made the preternaturally calm presence walking behind them even more noticeable.

"I'm glad you were able to join us on such short notice," Kirk said.

"I was happy for the opportunity to serve on a starship, Captain. I haven't set foot on one since my training days." Claire paused. Impulsively, she touched his forearm, just for a moment. "Hepatitis R is a very grave disease, sir, but the medical facilities on Starbase 6 are unsurpassed. Dr. McCoy has the best chance for recovery there."

Kirk looked at her. "Thank you, Doctor….What was that, Spock?"

Mr. Spock cleared his throat. "Nothing, Captain."

They had arrived at Sickbay. Kirk left her there. "Christine will show you around," he said. "Have whatever you need beamed aboard before ten hundred and report for duty at thirteen hundred." Claire mentally converted the numbers to real time and nodded. She watched the two men walk away, one warm, radiating power and vitality, the other forming a tall, cool counterpoint. They fit together somehow.

She turned to the sickbay and glanced around with admiration. She had not met Dr. McCoy, but if a doctor could be judged by his hospital, then McCoy must be a very rational, organized man. Everything was laid out in perfect, logical order. The head nurse, Christine, finished stacking the surgical packs and turned to her with a smile. "Are you ready for the tour?" she said. Her voice had the barest hint of an old-fashioned scotch-and-cigarettes rasp to it. With her bouffant blonde hair and short-skirted blue uniform she could have been a cocktail waitress. Claire liked her already.

The tour was a little overwhelming. Over 400 crewmembers on board, and the facilities had to handle a large number of wounded. She would essentially be managing an entire hospital in addition to joining landing parties. "I'll need to examine all the crew medical files later today," she said.

"I've already got them loaded on the lab computer for you. It won't be hard. The crew's nearly all human. Just two Ferengis and three Andoreans and Spock of course."

"I'll have to brush up on my Vulcan physiology."

"Actually, Spock is half Vulcan, half human."

Claire started. The two didn't look anything alike. Mr. Spock was so much more Vulcan-looking. The boy, thankfully, was not. Well, that just went to show that one could never predict how a cross-bred organism would come out. "His file I'll need to memorize," Claire said.

"I highlighted the relevant details in his file," Christine said. "Mostly Vulcan, but a few anomalies you'll need to remember. Here's the lab." She stood proudly by the door and gestured to Claire to go inside.

The lab was lovely, every piece of equipment gleaming under the bright lights. It was small, as all things on board a ship were, but perfectly equipped. "The only thing I see missing is a Galveston spectrometer," she said. "I can have one beamed up from my lab."

"I thought you would say that. I cleared a spot on that counter for it."

Claire looked at her and laughed. "You're the brains behind this outfit, aren't you?"

Christine smiled smugly. "Just between you and me," she said, "Dr. McCoy's a great doctor but he'd lose his head if it wasn't screwed down."

"Perfect," Claire said. "Just pretend I'm him and we'll get along great."

* * *

><p>Kirk and Spock were deep in a game of chess when Sulu entered.<p>

"Excuse me, Captain. You said you wanted a report on the new recruits in my combat class."

"Ah, yes, the combat class. I thought you looked a little worn out."

"They gave me a good workout, sir. The cadets have all had training with Master Sandel at the academy, and they're performing well, except that he puts too much emphasis on the Flynn maneuver. I'll train them out of that soon enough."

"No doubt. How about our other new crewmember?"

"She's another story, sir. She trained at the academy as well, but it was ten years ago and she's pretty rusty. I suggest regular lessons if she's going to be joining any landing parties."

"Good idea. I'll tell her to start attending classes regularly. Spock, would you be willing to run her through some drills outside of class? She needs to get up to speed quickly."

"Certainly," Spock said as he moved his knight in for the kill.

Sulu left and Kirk muttered, "Damn," as he scanned the chess pieces. "Another game?" he asked.

Spock inclined his head. As they placed the synthetic marble and obsidian pieces on the boards, he said, "Captain, I remind you that I did warn you about taking on Dr. Hollick. The Vulcan doctor serving at Starbase 6 would have been a much more suitable choice."

"S'Gar? I looked at his file. No Starfleet experience whatsoever. Besides, you told me you admired Hollick's work."

"Dr. Hollick's work on mitochondrial cancer has been groundbreaking, but the skills required for lab work are not at all the same as those required for being chief medical officer on a starship. A level-headed and physically strong Vulcan would-"

"Yes, Spock! I know! Vulcans are infinitely superior to humans!"

"I did not say that, Captain. I merely pointed out-"

Kirk raised his hand. "You've made your point, Spock." He sighed and dropped his hand. "Forgive me, I'm not in the best mood. Anyway, what does it matter? It's a temporary assignment and we'll have McCoy back in no time." He moved a piece without looking at it.

Spock closed in for the kill again. It was clear the Captain's mind was not on the game. "Captain, I am constrained to point out that the chances of recovering from Rigelian hepatitis are 25.7%. It is illogical to expect Dr. McCoy to return."

Kirk stood abruptly. "I'll be on the bridge," he said. He pivoted on his heel and strode out of the room.

Spock looked at the closed door, eyebrow raised. Slowly, he began to put the chess pieces away.

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><p>Spock leaned back against the wall of the martial arts room, arms folded, watching Sulu teach six students the left hand block the lieutenant had invented during a dangerous encounter with a Faragon. It was the only block that worked with a three-meter tall organism that had both arms and multiple tentacles. Venomous tentacles, at that.<p>

The students practiced the maneuver on each other, their arms a blur as they blocked each other's jabs. The doctor was slower than the others. Tendrils of her golden brown hair had escaped the knot at the back of her neck and her ridiculous eyeglasses kept slipping down her nose. She must be one of the 1.4% of humans who were allergic to Retinax V. Spock sighed. Why the Captain had chosen this short, clumsy woman over a male Vulcan was beyond him. She would be as useless as McCoy in a real battle. On the other hand, her blocks were aimed precisely. She seemed to anticipate where each of her opponent's hits would land, and she blocked at the point of maximal vulnerability. Spock watched her closely.

Sulu called a halt and said, "We'll close today with a lesson I don't want you ever to forget." He handed a dummy phaser to the doctor. "Claire, aim the phaser at me." She stood where she was, less than a meter from Sulu, and pointed the phaser at him. Spock winced. Sulu's hand shot out and knocked the phaser out of her hand and halfway across the room. Startled, she froze for a microsecond. Sulu swept her feet out from under her, rolled her onto her stomach, and pinned her arms behind her back. She bucked, but his full weight was on her backside. He pulled her arms up a few centimeters. A shriek of "Uncle!" emitted from the floor, muffled slightly by the padded mat.

Sulu released her, chuckling, and the other students laughed as Claire sat up, glasses askew and a sheepish grin on her face. Sulu said, "I haven't heard that form of surrender since I was a kid."

One of the other students gave Claire a hand up. She smoothed down her hair and straightened her glasses. Sulu asked the class, "What went wrong there?" They all chimed in together, "She was too close."

"Exactly," Sulu said. He turned toward Claire. "When you have a long-distance weapon, you have the advantage because you can disable someone without getting close to them. Don't give up that advantage by getting within arm's reach. Stay about two to three meters away. Close enough that they won't be tempted to run, but far enough that they can't reach you before you have time to fire."

Claire nodded and rubbed her wrist. "I won't forget," she said with a rueful smile.

As the students filed out of the room, Spock levered himself off the wall and walked toward the doctor. Her rate of respiration was still elevated and her face was flushed. "Would you prefer to conduct our sparring session at a later time, Doctor?" he asked.

"No. I'll be with you in a moment." Her smile had disappeared.

Spock turned to the cabinets and pulled out the protective gear. He doubted it would be necessary, as she was unlikely to land a hit on him and he would be careful not to hit her with any force, but it was logical to take precautions. He strapped the red pads over his chest and forearms, the color standing out starkly against his black fatigues, providing a useful target.

Sulu was adjusting the helmet on Claire's head. "I've got to get to the bridge now," he said.

"Thanks for the class," she said.

"No problem. Good luck with him." Sulu patted her shoulder as he left.

Claire put down her water bottle and walked toward Spock. She was in black fatigues as well, but had athletic shoes on; Spock was barefoot as he always was during training. He assumed the ready stance. Claire followed suit, jaw upturned, amber eyes locking with his. "We will start with punches, Doctor. Show me your best hit." She pulled her right arm back and drove her fist directly at his chest. He hastily raised his left arm, barely blocking the punch in time. The force behind her hit was an order of magnitude higher than he had been expecting.

"Weak," he said. "You will need to do better than that in real combat."

She set her jaw and drew back her arm again. This time he caught her fist on its way to his abdomen. He twisted it viciously, making her lose her balance and fall to the blue-matted floor. She popped back up, breathing hard. Her cheeks were flushed again. "Block," he said and immediately struck at her left shoulder. Her right arm was a blur as she knocked his fist aside before it made contact. He tried again on her chest and she blocked him so hard his wrist was stinging. He attempted to sweep her legs with his foot, as Sulu had done earlier, but she jumped lightly out of the way. Fascinating.

"Full sparring now," he said.

He watched her closely as they faced off. Her mouth suddenly dropped open as if she were about to speak. She snapped it shut again. Her eyes narrowed. She struck out in a slow-moving, clumsy jab that he blocked easily. He hit back and made contact with her shoulder. They continued on this way for several minutes, Spock easily outmaneuvering her. Finally, looking intently at her, Spock whirled around and kicked her in the thigh. Hard.

She fell to the mat, tears welling up in her eyes, holding up her hand in a signal to stop.

"Are you all right, Doctor?"

Her breathless voice responded, "Fine….Just give me a minute." She kneaded her thigh for several seconds and then stood shakily.

Spock handed her the water bottle. "I believe that is enough for today. May I give you my evaluation?"

She nodded as she gulped water, eyes closed.

"You fight in an emotional manner. You are weak and slow, even for a human. I will recommend to the Captain that you not serve on landing parties until you have shown significant improvement. Let us meet again tomorrow at the same time."

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><p>Claire slammed the door of her locker and stalked to the shower. <em>That pointy-eared son of a bitch! How did he know? <em>Well, the answer to that was easy. Because he was a Vulcan, that's how. Thank heavens she had realized at some point that she was revealing far too much. She couldn't afford for anyone to know, least of all him. Standing under the warm flow of water, she massaged the growing bruise on her thigh. It had been very difficult to ignore that last message he had sent, and she had paid for it. Hopefully it had thrown him off her trail.

It was really just her luck there had to be a Vulcan officer on board. In addition to the problems with their telepathic abilities, there was the fact that her skin crawled whenever she had to be around them. The last month, since S'Gar had been transferred to Starbase 6, had been torturous. There was simply no way to avoid him completely, and that time he had smirked and asked her how Marissa was doing it had taken every ounce of her self-control not to deck him. Of course, he was a special case, but they all had that same haughty arrogance about their lack of emotion. She was so glad Michael was being raised as a human.

Claire wrapped herself in a soft, white towel and put her head under a drier. She'd better get moving or she'd be late for lunch with Christine. That was guaranteed to improve her mood. Christine had the most wicked sense of humor. She referred to the Captain as Alfalfa, for his incorrigible cowlick and childish antics, and she did a devastating impersonation of his halting vocal patterns. Claire didn't know any of the officers well enough to joke about them, but she appreciated the head nurse's attempts to help her feel more comfortable on the intimidating starship. Sometimes they sat in the galley shaking with silent laughter as one of Christine's targets strode by. She especially liked to pick on the alpha males. She never picked on Spock, though.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Viacom, Inc. and Paramount, Inc. I wrote this story purely for fun and have received no monetary benefit from it._

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

"Bridge to Sickbay."

"Hollick here."

"Doctor, we've entered orbit around Theta Epsilon. Report to the transporter room in ten minutes to join the landing party," Kirk said.

"Uh…aye-aye, sir."

Claire released the intercom switch and turned to Nurse Chapel. "What do I do? My mind's blank!"

"First," Christine said, "take a deep breath. You'll need your medical bag and a tricorder. Security will issue you a communicator and phaser when you get to the transporter room." Her voice was firm and soothing.

Claire let out a whoosh of air. She turned to the smooth, polished titanium countertop and opened the black medical bag, frowning at the contents.

Christine moved to her side. "See? You've got 5 cc of rynazapam, enough to drop an elephant. 5 cc of tropeine, 5 of morazapol, scanner and laser."

Claire smiled. "Thanks, Christine." She draped the shoulder strap across her body and Christine added the tricorder. "Wish me luck!" Suddenly she turned and ran to the tiny bathroom.

When she emerged a minute later, Christine put a sisterly arm around her and gave her a squeeze. "Just as well," she said. "Imagine if you'd done that in the transporter room, all over Mr. Spock's shoes?"

Claire was laughing as she left sickbay and trotted down to the turbolift. She hadn't had a case of nerves like that since her first autopsy. It was silly. They were beaming down to an uninhabited planet, earth-like atmosphere. Half an hour to collect samples and take pictures. Grunt work, basically. And, frankly, it was about time. She hadn't been allowed to beam down on either of the last two missions, and she was beginning to wonder if she'd ever be asked to join a landing party.

She forced herself to slow down to a walk before she entered the transporter room. The other four were already on the pad. Spock gazed down at her. "You are 15.6 seconds late, Doctor," he said, his tone frosty.

"Sorry, sir," Claire said as she took the gadgets from the ensign and attached them to her waist belt. She climbed the steps to the platform and passed through the others to take her place at the back of the group. Sulu winked at her. Spock and the two redshirts in front kept their phasers out in case anything unexpected confronted the group when they materialized. The ensign retreated behind the console.

"Energize," ordered Spock.

Claire felt the familiar tingling start in her abdomen and spread out to her fingertips, as though she'd swallowed static electricity. There was a moment of darkness, and then a vista began to appear before her, like a watery impressionist painting. Green rocks, vermillion sky, the backs of three men materializing before her, one blue and two red. Gravity began to suck her body down, exerting its greedy pull. Hot wind struck her face.

Spock turned slowly around and then lowered his phaser. "Marino and Beck, fan out and secure the area; check in every 5 minutes. Anything on the tricorders?"

"No animal life forms," Sulu said, "but I am picking up an energy source one kilometer away at 120 mark seven. Could be those rumors about dilithium crystals in this system were true!"

"Unlikely, Mr. Sulu," intoned the Vulcan. "There is insufficient dilithium precipitate on this planet to instigate the crystallization process."

Sulu's face fell. Claire broke in, "I'm getting energy readings, too, at the same heading. Not living, but the wave pattern is life-like in some ways." Spock looked over her shoulder at the tricorder. Her left arm warmed at the higher Vulcan body heat radiating off of him. "Fascinating," his voice rumbled in her ear. She caught the faint scent of peppermint. Standard-issue Starfleet toothpaste.

He turned away and flipped open his communicator to tell Marino to check out the energy source. "We will be collecting samples here; Spock out."

Sulu turned to the low mounds of green rock and began the collection process. Spock started on soil samples. Claire worked on the tiny yellow scrub grasses poking out of crevices in the rocks. They indicated that there must be water in the area, and she hoped to find it before they were scheduled to leave; water was the best source of microorganisms.

She gasped as panic suddenly hit her, like a glass of ice water thrown in her face. The collection tube slipped out of her numb fingers. There! In the direction of the energy readings. Marino. Terrified. She shot to her feet and took off running in that direction, aware out of the corner of her eye that Spock was running in the same direction. An anguished cry rang out ahead.

He outpaced her, and when she caught up he was standing over Marino's prone body, looking into the distance, phaser raised. She came pounding up behind him, breath ragged, and knelt immediately to Marino. Alive. Pulse weak but there. Breathing on his own. She could barely hear Sulu and Beck when they arrived a moment later. She grabbed the scanner and ran it slowly and precisely over his body. She could hear the men talking, but the sound was far away, unimportant. The only important things were the numbers and images the machine was spitting back at her. They made no sense. How could his blood pressure have dropped to 80 over 30 when he had no visible wounds, hadn't lost any blood? Red blood cells were low as well. She checked total blood volume. He _had_ lost blood – at least two pints. But from where?

She looked up. Sulu and Spock were exploring the immediate vicinity, phasers drawn. Beck was gone. "Mr. Spock!"

He walked quickly to her. "What is Marino's condition?"

"Stable for now, but I need to get him to sickbay right away. He must have a transfusion."

Spock pulled out his communicator. "Spock to _Enterprise_….We have a wounded man to beam up. Medical team to the transporter room." He looked at the doctor. "Do you know what happened to Marino?"

"No. He's lost a great deal of blood, especially red blood cells, but the scanner picks up no wound. I'd like to stay with him."

Spock nodded. Less than three minutes later she was back in sickbay, watching the monitor above Marino's bed.

* * *

><p>"We searched a one kilometer radius, but saw no signs of an entity and picked up no more energy readings on the tricorder." Spock settled back into the hard chair of the briefing room.<p>

"Sulu?" said the Captain.

"I don't know what it could have been, Captain. Whatever it was, it left no tracks, even on that dusty surface, and we didn't see any accessible water or food sources," Sulu said.

Kirk turned to Claire. "You're sure there were no wounds?"

"Positive, Captain. The only way his blood could have been removed was through a permeable membrane, such as the inside of the mouth, but it still couldn't have happened that quickly without damage."

The Captain looked down and bit the end of his thumb. "Did any of you notice a sickly-sweet odor or see a gaseous substance?"

Sulu and Claire shook their heads. Spock said, "Captain, if memory serves, the entity to which you refer drained all the red blood corpuscles from its victims. That did not happen in this case."

Kirk's head shot up. "But the doctor said Marino's red blood cell count was down! Maybe the creature was just getting started."

Spock shook his head. "The creature to which you refer did not drain all the blood from its victims; only the red blood cells. And it generated a very specific pattern on our tricorders, which was not in evidence today."

Kirk sighed. "Very well. We'll stay in orbit for twelve more hours." He looked at Sulu. "I want full scans of the planet every thirty minutes. Notify me at once if you pick up any energy readings. Doctor, keep me apprised of Marino's condition. Dismissed."

As the four stood, Spock said, "Doctor. A word, if you please." He gestured to her chair.

She sat back down and turned her penetrating gaze on him. The door closed, leaving the two of them with the computer console between them, the last planet scan glowing on its screen.

Spock clasped his wrist behind his back and began to pace. "Doctor, I would like you to explain what happened today when you left the collection site to attend to Lieutenant Marino."

She was very still. "I don't understand," she finally said.

"How did you know that he needed assistance?"

"He cried out."

"You were already running toward him when he first cried out."

Claire blinked. "I must have seen you running toward him and I followed. I don't really remember." Her voice was flat and final.

Spock's eyebrow raised. "Very well, Doctor. You may go."

* * *

><p>Twelve hours later they were leaving orbit. Claire made one last trip to sickbay to check on her patient before turning in. Marino was sitting up, eating jello, most of the color back in his young cheeks. After looking him over, Claire headed to her cabin with a spring in her step despite the long day. The Captain was being a bear, frustrated at getting no answers on Theta Epsilon, but her patient was recovering and she had survived her first landing party in eight years. She knew most missions ended like this, with more questions than answers. They would enter what data they had into the library, and eventually someone else would travel there and collect more data, and so it would go. Some liked to romanticize space exploration, but she knew it was essentially like any other science. Decade after decade of tedious labor and the gradual accumulation of knowledge. She was trained to this kind of work. It was harder on men like Kirk.<p>

She entered her quarters and saw the red light blinking on her computer console. A message, maybe from her parents. They were vacationing on one of the Martian colonies, and she had not talked to them in several weeks. She pressed the play button and saw the face of one of her colleagues on Starbase 6.

"Hi, Claire," the middle-aged woman said. "I hope your tour of duty is going okay. I thought you would want to know that Dr. McCoy's white cell count is up to 840. It's the first response he's shown to the treatment. He could slide right back downhill tomorrow, but it's still a positive sign. I haven't told your Captain – I don't want to get his hopes raised for no reason. Maybe you could talk to him if you think it's a good idea? Thanks, and give me a call sometime soon, huh? I miss you!"

The screen turned off and Claire stood for a moment. Then she turned impulsively and headed back out of her room and down the corridor. The Captain could use a little good news now. She sensed that his snappish manner today was only partly due to frustration about Theta Epsilon. McCoy was one of his best friends, after all, and he had shown no response to treatment until today.

She arrived at his quarters and hesitated before pressing the buzzer. It was late. He was still awake, though, and in an agitated state. Puffs of hot air feathered against her face. She pushed the button.

"Come."

The door opened to a softly lit room and she saw the Captain sitting back in a recliner, wearing a navy blue bathrobe. He set aside the reading device he had been holding and rose. "This is a surprise, Doctor," he said, his voice impatient.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Captain, but I've had some news from Starbase 6 and I thought you would want to know."

His gaze sharpened. "What is it?"

She glanced down the corridor and said, "Well, it concerns Dr. McCoy."

He held out his arm. "Please, come in." He gestured her toward a chair.

She sat and said, "It's important not to read too much into this, sir, but Dr. McCoy's white cell count has increased. It is possible that he's beginning to respond to the treatment."

A huge grin broke out on Kirk's face, the first she had seen since meeting him. He pounded his fist into his other hand and said, "I knew you could do it, Bones!"

"He's not out of the woods yet, sir." She reached out to him mentally and tried to temper his enthusiasm, but he was irrepressible. He paced for a moment and suddenly said, "This calls for a drink! Join me in a Saurian brandy?"

"I'd be honored."

He began pouring the drinks from the long-necked decanter. "How did you hear this news?" he asked.

"My friend, Dr. Koury, called. She wasn't sure whether to tell you. She doesn't want you to get your hopes raised too high, and neither do I."

Kirk handed her a drink and sat down across the table from her. He smiled at her. "I understand, Doctor…Claire…I know the chances still aren't good. But this is the first good news I've had in some time. Thank you for telling me." His eyes sparkled as he tilted his glass toward hers. She clinked her glass against his, caught by the intense gaze of his hazel eyes. Their eyes remained locked as they took a sip.

The door buzzed. Kirk's eyes shifted to the door. "Come!" he said.

Spock stood on the threshold, a data tape in his hand. His gaze flicked to Claire and back to the Captain.

"Spock!" Kirk exclaimed. "Come on in! The doctor and I were just enjoying a brandy. Would you like one?"

Spock walked rigidly into the room. "Thank you, Captain, no. I brought the monthly manifests." He handed the tape to the Captain.

Kirk tossed the tape onto his cluttered computer desk. "How long till we reach Altair 6?"

"20.2 hours."

"Good, I'm looking forward to…uh….taking advantage of their excellent facilities."

"Yes, Captain."

"Cheer up, Spock!" Kirk grinned at him. "This is a festive occasion. I've just heard that Dr. McCoy has shown some improvement."

Spock's eyebrow raised. "Indeed?"

"Claire says his white cell count is up. We're celebrating. Are you sure you won't join us?"

"Thank you, sir, but I must return to my duties."

"What duties? Your shift ended an hour ago. Admit it – you just don't want McCoy to get better," Kirk teased.

"Not at all, Captain. I am pleased to hear that his condition is improved. Good night."

After the door closed behind Spock, Kirk turned to Claire and said, "Don't mind him. He won't admit it, but he's as worried about McCoy as I am. Some more brandy?"

"Just a little more. I've got the early shift tomorrow."

Before she left he thanked her again for stopping by and clasped her hand warmly.

She was lost in thought as she walked down the corridor. She had never found men like Kirk attractive, but at close range his charisma was undeniable. He had a way of making you feel as though you were the only woman he had ever laid eyes on. And his lack of emotional shields created additional problems. She could sense every passing wave of irritation, delight, worry… sexual desire. She couldn't tell if the warmth she was feeling now was coming from her or from him or from the brandy.

She wandered into the turbolift, still pondering the tanned pectorals she'd glimpsed beneath the navy robe. "Deck C," she said automatically.

"Doctor."

Her head shot up. What was Spock doing in the turbolift? She had become so used to using her mental feelers to tell her when others were around that she sometimes didn't even watch where she was going. Apparently the feelers didn't work too well on Spock.

"Mr. Spock."

He twisted the control and brought the lift to a stop. "A question, Doctor."

"Yes?"

"What is Dr. McCoy's condition?"

"His white cell count has increased to 840. No other change."

"Then his probability of recovery has not increased?"

"No. But it is still a positive sign."

"Are you sure it was wise to tell the Captain and make him think the situation has improved when it has not?"

"The Captain is an intelligent man. He understands that the outlook is still grim," Claire said in freezing tones. "He needed to hear some good news."

"On what basis did you make that judgment?"

"It was my professional opinion," she said, glaring at him.

"Indeed? I was not aware you had training in psychology, Doctor."

"Mr. Spock. If you wish to conduct an official inquiry into my credentials or order me not to speak to others without your clearance, that is your prerogative. If not, kindly allow me to carry out my duties as I see fit! Deck C," she said as she grabbed the lift control on her side.

Spock said nothing, just stood gazing down at her as though she were a specimen in a Petri dish. The lift stopped at Deck C and Claire stalked out.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Viacom, Inc. and Paramount, Inc. I wrote this story purely for fun and have received no monetary benefit from it._

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<p>

"Rand to _Enterprise_."

"Spock here."

"Mr. Spock, you better get down here. They're gonna kill each other!" Sounds of breaking glass could be heard in the background.

Spock sighed. "Where is 'here', Yeoman?"

"Well, I don't know the name but it's that bar on the main street, the one that serves a lot of Klingons?"

"Are you referring to _The Klaxon_?"

"Yeah, that's it!"

"Wait there." He thumbed the intercom switch. "Mr. Scott, have a security team meet me in the transporter room. Prepare to beam us down."

He handed the conn off to Sulu and headed to the turbolift. He pursed his lips on the way down. Sometimes he wondered whether shore leave was worth all the trouble. He failed to see how an activity that left half the crewmembers hung over or nursing black eyes could count as restful. Meditation was far superior.

When he and the two security officers materialized, Yeoman Rand ran up to them. "It's getting worse!" she said.

An alarming mix of shouts and crashes was emitting from the bar entrance. "How many are involved?" he asked the Yeoman.

"Just the three of them against a whole mess of Klingons!"

He suddenly recalled who had beamed down with Rand that evening. "Stay here," he said curtly. He turned to the security officers. "Phasers on stun. Try to break the fight up with minimal force. We do not want to start a war."

He entered the bar and took in a scene of sheer chaos. Chekov was locked in a mutual chokehold with a gigantic female Klingon. Another Klingon, back turned to Spock, had a chair raised over his head, waiting for the right moment to bring it down on Chekov. Spock quickly dispatched him with a neck-pinch and ducked as a bottle flew past his head and crashed on the wall beside him. He pried the female Klingon's fingers off of Chekov, whose face was turning blue. Chekov dropped to the floor and the Klingon grabbed Spock by the upper arms and hurled him onto a table, which promptly broke underneath him. With a roar she thundered over to finish the job. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Spock pulled out his phaser and dropped her as he rose from the debris.

He knelt by Chekov to check his pulse, then scanned the room to find his shipmates. A skinny Andorean was punching an amused-looking Klingon. Various locals were brawling with each other. Everyone was ignoring the security guards, whose shouts of "This is Starfleet Security! Stop fighting!" were hopelessly drowned out by the general din. He finally spotted Uhura and Hollick in the center of the room. They were standing back to back, holding off three Klingons by sheer force of will. The look in Uhura's eyes, fists raised, was murderous. It would only be a matter of time before the Klingons lost patience, however. Hollick suddenly delivered a sharp groin kick and the enraged Klingon swept her aside with his arm, as though she were made of paper. She went flying in Spock's general direction and immediately righted herself and took off to rejoin Uhura. Spock grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her chest. She fought like a cat. He was startled to feel his grip slipping. "Clarinda," he said forcefully into her ear. "Stop!"

"But Uhura!" She was still fighting him, but her thrashing had weakened.

"Security has got her." He kept a firm grip on her until she stilled. The security guards were leading Uhura back through the crowd. Chekov was coughing on the floor. Spock kept a hand on Hollick's upper arm.

Suddenly a bottle sailed through the air and hit the back of Uhura's head. Claire shook off Spock's grip and launched herself back to the center of the room. "Son of a bitch!" she yelled as she attacked the Klingon who had thrown the bottle. It took Spock and both security guards to pull them apart, their task made more difficult by Uhura rejoining the fray. The melee finally ended with Spock grabbing Hollick and carrying her bodily out the door, his other hand gripping Uhura's upper arm to pull her away from the fight. The security officers supported Chekov between them.

Kirk was livid when he talked to them an hour later. He had been called away from his own shore leave at a small but tasteful establishment on the other side of the colony. After berating the bedraggled group for ten minutes, he confined them all to quarters for 24 hours and docked them a week's salary. When the three had filed out of the briefing room, he turned to Spock and said, "Do you believe their story?"

"It is not unknown for Klingons to instigate a fight. However, I am confused as to why that one word would provoke such unprofessional behavior."

"It's an old Earth word for…well, never mind. Trust me, it's provocative enough. If somebody, especially a Klingon, had said that to Uhura in my presence, I might have done the same." A small smile played on his lips. "I almost wish I'd been there."

Spock absently rubbed his sore shoulder. "I admit it did have its fascinating moments," he said. "But on the whole I prefer a good game of chess."

"I think it's best if we leave Altair 6 discreetly before the Klingons decide to file a complaint."

"Agreed."

"Get the remaining crewmembers back on board and break orbit. How long will it take us to reach Tares 4 from here?"

Spock performed a quick mental calculation. "36.2 hours at warp factor 3."

"And this is the one the Federation believes may have large settlements of humanoids?"

"Affirmative. Class M planet, energy outputs indicate they may have entered early industrialization."

"I want you and Hollick to observe the largest settlement. I'll take a geologist and look over one of the uninhabited areas," Kirk said. "Don't look at me that way, Spock. You said yourself she's a good biologist."

"She is. She is also erratic and undisciplined."

"You've managed to deal with McCoy's temperament pretty well."

"I have never been forced to carry Dr. McCoy out of a bar to prevent him from killing an inebriated Klingon."

* * *

><p>The men bound their wrists in front of them and started marching them to the cream-colored, thick-walled building in the center of the dusty plaza. Spock walked sedately, looking straight ahead, and Claire tried to mimic his demeanor, though her heart was pounding and a cold sweat had broken out on her forehead. The soldiers or guards or whatever they were around here were all men, all large, all filthy, and all watching her and Spock with cold, flat eyes. The one behind her kept pushing the gun barrel into her spine, as though it gave him pleasure to do so.<p>

It was hard to believe that thirty minutes ago she had been on the _Enterprise_, putting on a local peasant's outfit and getting her gear ready for studying the humanoids on Tares 4. The study had not lasted long before they were caught by the guards. How they had managed to sneak up without Claire sensing them was beyond her. She must have been distracted.

The leader of the sad procession knocked on the heavy oak door, and it swung inwards with a groan of its hinges. "Bring them in," a gravelly voice said. The guards pushed Spock through the doorway, and then Claire felt herself being shoved ahead. She stumbled and fell against Spock's back. He was staring at something in front of him, immoveable as a rock. Claire balanced herself and peered around him, but all she could see was the dim outline of a humanoid figure in the gloom of the windowless room. The gravelly voice spoke again, emerging from the dark figure. "Who are you? You are strangers here."

"I am Spock. This is my friend Claire."

"You don't look like a peasant. What's wrong with your ears?"

"An unfortunate accident. We are from another province."

"So you admit you are one of the others?" it growled.

"I admit that I am a stranger here, but I come with only friendly intent."

"You lie!" the voice shouted. "You were seen sneaking around, collecting information. You are spies, sent by the Trobrians!" The face belonging to the voice started to become clearer, and when Claire saw the flames of fanaticism in his blue eyes, she started to tremble. There would be no reasoning with this man.

Spock shifted his weight a few millimeters, bringing his body in contact with hers. "I assure you, sir, we are not spies. We merely want to learn about your culture, understand your ways better."

Claire impulsively exclaimed, "We hate the Trobrians!"

The man tossed back his head and cackled, long tufts of silver hair fanning out from his head. "Nice try, my dear! I'll tell the boys to go a little lighter on you than on your tight-lipped friend. But make no mistake, I will get the truth out of you both, sooner or later. Take them to the room!"

The gun barrel prodded Claire's back again, and she followed two men leading Spock further into the building, to a door at the back of the entrance hall. On the other side of the door was a short, narrow corridor, lined with empty barred cells on either side, and at the end of the corridor was a thick, locked door, with a small window built into it.

A tall, heavyset guard pulled out a large ring of keys and looked slowly through it. He finally landed on the correct key and opened the door with a flourish. "Don't worry," he said to Spock with a wink, "we'll start off easy."

A wave of vertigo washed over her as she walked into the room. It was empty, the floor coated with dust. The walls were stone, with a few iron rings mortared into them. But the voices from the past wailed inside her head – the pain, the terror, layer upon layer of it. She pinched the webbing between her thumb and forefinger hard and the voices subsided. She fixed her eyes on the stones of the wall, the craggy texture of the limestone and the lacy patterns of lichen growing over it. A ripping sound came from her right, and she looked over to see Spock shirtless, his bound hands being tied to a high ring on the wall. Then her shirt was torn off, the cool air chilling her sweat. They left on the bra-like undergarment that had come with her local outfit, and tied her hands to a ring above her head on the wall. It was an uncomfortable position, but she had a feeling she wouldn't have to endure it for long. Name, rank, serial number, and anything else she could think to tell them would come burbling out of her any minute now. She focused on the patterns of the wall again, right in front of her face. What was limestone? Calcium carbonate, right? What was the formula again?

"CaCO3," a voice murmured next to her.

Claire looked up at him and his eyes caught hers. "Go through the periodic table, Doctor," he said quietly, his deep voice rumbling. "By atomic number. That is an order."

Claire faced forward, closed her eyes, and began mumbling to herself. "Hydrogen, one proton, nonmetal. He…" She flinched as a sharp crack echoed in the room. "lium, Helium. Let's see, two protons, noble…mmph!" This time the crack was for her. A searing pain crossed her back, as though it had been sliced by a giant razor blade. "Noble gas, that's it. Third, what's third? God, what's third?" she whispered frantically as another crack sounded to her right.

"Lithium," he said calmly.

More steadily, Claire continued the series to herself, visualizing the table in her mind. The whip lashes hurt like a bastard, the sounds of his lashing almost as painful to bear, but she pushed them away. The table, with its beautiful squares, each filled with its numbers and symbols, trapped the pain behind it, allowed very little to seep through. She had never experienced a mental state like this, had never realized how freeing and comforting the rigid structures of logic could be.

She was up to copper when rough hands grabbed her wrists. Her wrist binding was cut and she gratefully lowered her arms. "They've had enough," a voice said. It sounded like the guardian of the keys.

A higher voice squeaked, "What's wrong with his blood?"

"Prob'ly sick or something; don't get it on your hands."

Claire barely kept her footing as the guards dragged her to a cell. They pushed her inside and she staggered. A few seconds later, Spock followed. She reached out her hand to steady him, but he fell and his head hit the edge of the wooden table sitting in the middle of the cell. He landed heavily on his side, motionless. The guards slammed the door shut and left.

Claire dropped to her knees and prodded around the underside of Spock's head, feeling for any blood or swelling. It didn't feel like there was a concussion. She smoothed his silky black hair back into place and looked around for something to use on his back. Her medical bag had not been returned, of course, but there was a small stack of towels and a bottle of clear liquid. Also a couple of shirts, though she wasn't planning to put one on anytime soon. She unscrewed the cap of the glass bottle and tasted a drop. Pure alcohol. Excellent. She set to work cleaning the oozing, green cuts laced across Spock's back. There were a lot of them. She was just finishing when he stirred.

"How long?"

"Several minutes. You hit your head on the table."

"So I surmised," he said dryly as he reached up to his head. He sat up, wincing.

She set the bottle aside and drew closer to his face. "Look straight ahead," she said, holding a finger in front of his face.

"Doctor, I do not have a concussion."

"Shut up and look at my finger…Okay, you're probably fine."

"Has anyone seen to your back?"

She shook her head.

"What did you use on mine?"

"They left this alcohol. And here's a clean cloth." She handed him the supplies and turned around.

There was silence. "Doctor, I am going to attempt to get your medical bag back from our hosts. There are analgesics in there, I presume?"

"Never mind. I wouldn't waste them on a flesh wound anyway. Just do it!"

Claire closed her eyes and resumed building the periodic table. She thought about the copper in Spock's green blood as she listened to the cap untwisting from the bottle. The long, delicate fingers of his left hand gently folded over her shoulder as his right applied the cloth. She gritted her teeth.

"Doctor, have I ever told you about the telekinetic powers of the Platonians?"

"Not now, Spock!" she said tightly.

"It is quite fascinating. They have replicated ancient Greek culture…."

Several exceedingly long minutes later, Spock pulled back and said, "I believe that is sufficient to reduce the probability of infection."

Claire let out a weary breath and rested her head on her knees. "Thank you, Spock."

He stood up without replying and went to the cell bars. Methodically, systematically, he began running his hands down their lengths.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I should think that would be obvious," he replied. "You may start on the opposite wall. Do not let any detail escape you."

She sat staring at his back for a moment. Finally she took a deep breath, hauled herself up, and walked to the back wall. She tried to focus on the thick, gray blocks of stone, looking for any cracks and feeling for any movement, but her vision kept blurring. Angrily, she pulled her glasses off and wiped her face with her hands. She grabbed a cloth off the table and blew her nose into it as quietly as she could. Spock glanced over his shoulder at her. She ignored him, put her glasses back on, and then very gingerly donned a shirt. As she eased the gray shirt down she felt a bump and stopped.

"Wait a second," she muttered to herself. She reached up under her bra and pulled the small objects out.

"Doctor, what are you doing?"

She quickly finished pulling down the shirt and looked closely at the items in her hand. "I don't know," she said excitedly. "I may have an idea." She scraped at the thing in her hand and held her fingernail up to the light. "I think this might be _Angeloides carpentius_."

Spock walked over and looked at the blue smudge on her fingernail. "That is a bacterium, correct?"

"Yes, a very rare one. Given sufficient food it replicates very quickly, and with the right kind of food its main waste product is hydrochloric acid."

"Brilliant, Doctor," Spock said. "The lock on the cell door is poorly welded. A small quantity of acid would be sufficient to detach it. But is there a suitable food source available?"

Claire smiled at him. "Grain alcohol!" she said triumphantly.

Spock's eyebrow raised. "Fascinating," he said. "How much do you need?"

"Just a few milliliters. We can mix it in the bottom of the alcohol bottle. I just need to scrape the rest of these guys off of this bark."

Spock got the alcohol bottle and poured most of it into a small pile of rags. He picked up one of the pieces of bark and started scraping it with his fingernail and putting the blue gunk in the bottle cap as the doctor was doing. "Doctor, may I inquire as to your unorthodox storage method?"

"It's such a rare bacterium, and I was collecting as much bark as I could when the guards caught us. They were so focused on subduing you that I had a moment to hide a bit of it." She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. "You know, I didn't want to lose my samples."

He nodded. "I quite understand."

"I think we've got enough," she said. She picked up the bottle cap and pushed the bacterial film together into a clump, then carefully dropped it into the alcohol bottle. "I hope this works."

"How long will it take?"

"Assuming they're the right species in the first place, only a few minutes."

"It would be best if we were not here when the guards return," Spock said.

Claire swallowed hard and nodded silently. She picked up the alcohol bottle and began to swirl it impatiently.

Spock went back to the lock on the door and looked closely at it. He took a cloth and began cleaning the crevice where the lock met the door. "Doctor," he said without looking up. "Has your emotional condition improved?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Spock." She peered at the contents of the bottle and started swirling it again.

"I am responsible for your welfare on this mission. It is understandable for humans to develop strong emotional reactions to environmental stressors. There is no need to hide such an occurrence."

Claire blinked. "Um…thank you, Mr. Spock, but I would not want to give you further grounds for seeing me as a liability on missions."

"Displays of emotion, if confined to the appropriate time and place, do not constitute a liability. I have long observed that Captain Kirk's strong passions do not detract from his competence; in fact, they occasionally enhance it. I do, however, suggest that you refrain from attempting diplomacy. It is not your strong suit."

Claire laughed. "I thought it was worth a shot."

"Mmm. 'Worth a shot' is not a recognized school of diplomacy," he deadpanned. "I have found the weakest area of the weld. Is the acid ready?"

"Yeah, I think so. It looks right, anyway." She handed the bottle to Spock.

He cautiously held it in front of his nose. "Remarkable. Pure hydrochloric acid," he said. "Stand back." He slowly poured the liquid into the crevice. Smoke rose from the hissing metal. After a moment he struck the lock with his fist and it fell to the floor with a satisfying clunk.

Claire let her breath out in a rush. She grabbed the other shirt off the table, handed it to Spock, and said, "Let's get out of here."

* * *

><p>He grabbed her wrist as she headed through the cell door. "A moment, Doctor," he said quietly. He released her wrist and pulled the black knit shirt on. "We need to locate the communicators and phasers. They are most likely to be in that room on the southeastern side of the entrance hall, about 10 meters to our left as we exit this corridor. There will be guards. We must dispatch them as quietly as possible so we do not alert the others outside."<p>

She nodded quickly.

"Follow me," he said. He led the way down the corridor to the main door and pressed his ear to it. "Two guards, one on each side," he whispered. "I will take the one on the right."

He twisted the knob and found it unlocked as he had anticipated. He swiftly pulled it open and moved quickly to the guard on the right. As he gripped the man's neck with his fingers he heard a thump and a soft grunt behind him. He lowered the unconscious man and turned around to help the doctor, but she was already lowering her victim to the floor. She started toward the door on the southeast wall, her steps quick and silent. Eyebrow raised, Spock followed.

When Claire reached the door, she stopped and peered slowly around the edge. She held up two fingers and then slipped into the room. Spock followed just in time to see her deliver a brutal blow to one man's neck. He quickly rendered the second man unconscious and turned to the doctor. She looked at his face and smiled. "Sulu gets the credit for that technique," she said.

"I will be sure to thank him later," said Spock. "Check those drawers for our equipment." He turned to the cabinets against the wall. "Here they are; disassembled, unfortunately. Do you see the phasers?"

"No, but my medical bag and the tricorder are here."

"They must have taken the phasers elsewhere. Put these in your bag. We will leave out the front door and get to the outskirts of town as quickly as possible. If we become separated, meet me at the grove of trees we saw outside of town at 120 mark five." He handed her the badly damaged communicator parts and turned toward the door.

Twenty minutes, two neck-pinches, and a knock-out later, they were ensconced in the small stand of trees. Claire rummaged through her bag. "It looks like everything is here. Do you want some pain medication?"

"Not necessary. I am going to attempt to make a working communicator out of the parts from those two broken ones."

She handed him the pieces. "How long will that take?"

He frowned at the pieces. "If it is even possible, at least an hour. That will give you time to finish collecting the data."

"I beg your pardon?"

"If you recall, Doctor, our assignment was to collect data on the biology and culture of the humanoid inhabitants here. We were interrupted in that mission. You have at least an hour to complete the task, more if we have to wait for a rescue party."

She looked at him, her gaze inscrutable. "I'll get right on it," she finally said.

* * *

><p>Spock turned away from the computer in the briefing room. He had completed as much of the preliminary report as he could without the doctor's input. She should be recovered from the laser suturing by now. Chapel had said a ten minute rest period was required, but that was 20.4 minutes ago. It would be good to get the report to the Captain this evening, so he could listen to it before the full de-briefing in the morning. Spock rose and headed to sickbay.<p>

When he walked in the room was quiet. A screen separated the last exam table from the rest of the room. "Doctor?" he inquired softly. "Doctor Hollick?" No response.

He hesitated a moment, wrist clasped behind his back, and then walked to the screen and peered around it. She was there, lying on her stomach, head turned away from him, her golden brown hair cascading off the side of the table. The red welts criss-crossed her naked back, much fainter than they had been that afternoon. Her breathing was slow and even.

He retreated to the other side of the screen, cleared his throat, and called her name more firmly.

She stirred. "Unh?"

"I am sorry to awaken you, Doctor, but I need your input on the preliminary report."

"Oh…sorry…be there in a couple of minutes," she said muzzily.

"I will be in the briefing room." He turned precisely and strode out. Nurse Chapel was just coming in. She grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the corridor.

"What the hell did they use on her? It tore her skin up something awful." she said.

"I did not see the implement but I infer from the damage it caused that it was a whip reinforced with metal fibers. Her human skin did not hold up to it very well."

"You weren't exactly impervious to it yourself, Mr. Spock, but you're used to dangerous missions. I can't stand to see a sweet girl like that get beaten up."

"Nurse, that 'sweet girl' rendered three full-grown men completely incapacitated. They will likely be sore for days."

The nurse's eyebrows raised. "Well, well," she said. "Looks like I'll need to revise my first impressions of the doctor."

Spock turned away and continued down the corridor. "Won't we all?" he muttered.

* * *

><p>Hollick padded into the briefing room, her hands wrapped around a giant cup of coffee. Spock's eyes traveled down her diminutive body, from her tousled hair down the oversized fluffy purple sweater and gray fleece-clad legs, to the non-regulation bright pink slippers on her feet. His eyebrow raised.<p>

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said, her voice still sleepy. "I must have fallen asleep on the exam table."

"Understandable. I have completed a summary of the main events today. Please listen to it and confirm the details. Then you will need to add a brief report of your main biological and cultural findings. There is no need to analyze the data. Provide your initial impressions and make a recommendation about whether we should stay in orbit to collect more data tomorrow."

He played the short tape for her while she sipped her coffee, her legs curled up under her on the chair. When it was done, she looked up and said, "Accurate and precise, Mr. Spock." There was an inexplicable glint of humor in her eyes. He chose to ignore it. If one attempted to understand every expression of human emotion one would never have time for anything else. "Proceed, Doctor," he said. He pressed the record button.

She straightened herself in her chair. "Doctor Hollick, reporting. Twenty soil and biological samples were extracted from three areas around the central settlement. Preliminary analysis indicates typical Class M planet evolution, with the exception of the rare bacterium _Angeloides_, which indicates excessive sulfur production in the recent past, perhaps from volcanic activity. The settlement was observed over a four hour period. About 5,000 humanoid inhabitants, primitive culture at level 3B. Standard level of aggression and militarization for a 3B culture. Ongoing hostilities with other settlements on the planet. As Mr. Spock indicated, inhabitants observed communicators and medical equipment and retained two phasers. It is unlikely they will understand or be able to make use of the technology. Further observation is not indicated at this time."

Spock said, "I concur with the Doctor's opinion." He pressed the stop button. "Thank you, Doctor. That is all."

Her lips compressed slightly. "Fine." She rose and padded out silently.

Spock sat looking at the closed door for a moment. He turned back to the computer and pressed the record button again. "I also wish to add that Doctor Hollick acted with notable bravery during this mission. Though subject to physical abuse and intimidation, she completed her tasks efficiently and did not violate the Prime Directive. I recommend her for a citation. Report concluded."


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Viacom, Inc. and Paramount, Inc. I wrote this story purely for fun and have received no monetary benefit from it._

* * *

><p>Chapter Four<p>

Uhura laid down her cards. A heart flush. Everyone groaned and Uhura raked in the chips, a cat-like smile of satisfaction playing on her lips. Claire turned to Christine. "We're going to have to gang up on her," she said.

"No kidding," said Christine. "She does this to us every time we play. You'd think we would have wised up by now."

The two exceptionally cute ensigns who had joined them this time exchanged an amused look. Duggan, the red-headed one, started dealing. "Ante up, ladies," he said.

Claire added her white chip to the pot and sat back with a small sigh of pleasure. She had had a couple of bad dreams since the Tares 4 mission, but the memory was starting to fade. Christine and Uhura had everything to do with that. The three had already been building a friendship, but since the mission they had been meeting often for mindless diversions like Antarean poker. The game made extensive use of bluffing strategies, and Claire had to be careful not to cheat, which would have been easy to do with Christine, whose feelings were very close to the surface. Uhura was much more difficult to read, and Claire tried to keep herself from prying.

The door of the rec room opened behind Claire, and she saw Christine and Uhura's eyes widen.

"What's he doing here? He hardly ever hangs out in the rec room!" Uhura whispered.

"I haven't seen him with his lyre in months," Christine whispered back.

Claire looked around and saw Spock heading past the young cadets loitering around the bar and toward the quiet back corner of the rec room. He settled himself on a bench back there, appearing to be deep in thought.

"You're in for a treat," Christine said to Claire. "Spock's a great player."

"Ladies? Still in the game?" Duggan said.

Claire turned back to the table and picked up her cards. As they played through the hand she caught occasional sounds of strumming. He was playing quietly and the rec room was noisy, but what she heard sounded like a cross between a harp and a dulcimer.

Ensign Brown won that round, and Uhura said, "Thanks, boys. I'm going to go listen to the music now." Christine stood with her and said, "Come on, Claire. You don't want to miss this!"

"I'll be there in a minute," Claire said. She meandered toward the bar as she watched Uhura and Christine head purposefully back to Spock's corner. She ordered a Blue Nebula, which was supposed to taste a little like Romulan ale, and leaned back against the bar to watch her friends bother Spock. This should be good.

Spock finished the tune he was playing and looked up at the two women. "Good evening, ladies," he said in a much friendlier voice than Claire was expecting.

Uhura placed her hand on Spock's forearm. "Play that song I like so much, Spock."

He inclined his head and adjusted the lyre, a small smile playing on his lips. His fingers moved smoothly across the strings, striking a melancholy chord. Uhura hummed a matching note and then began to sing a blues song about a certain green-skinned science officer, a dangerous lover of devilish appearance. Spock rolled his eyes, but the smile remained on his lips. As Uhura's voice died down, Christine stood and picked up the refrain.

_We know not what he'll do_

_But our friend will soon meet his demise  
><em>_For a girl in blue with knowing eyes  
><em>_Will see straight through his cold disguise  
><em>_And find the heart that's true_

_Girls in space be wary, be wary, be wary  
><em>_Girls in space be wary  
><em>_For we know not what he'll do...  
><em>_For the love of a girl in blue_

Christine's arm stole slowly around Spock's shoulders as she sang the final line. A delicate green flush crept into Spock's cheeks. He strummed the last chord and lowered the lyre. Very deliberately, he reached up and removed Christine's arm. "If you're quite through, ladies?" he said in a repressive voice. Uhura and Christine giggled.

"Let's have mercy on him," Christine said.

"Okay," said Uhura. "We'll buy you a drink, Mr. Spock."

He nodded and set his lyre aside. The three walked over to the bar. Uhura ordered a round of Nebulas.

"You should have joined our song!" Christine said to Claire.

"Oh no, I can't sing a note." She looked over at Spock, who was standing at her right elbow. "I've never heard the Vulcan lyre before, Mr. Spock. It's lovely. What key is it tuned to?"

"Ordinarily a scale unknown in Earth music, but it can be painful for human ears to listen to, so I tune it to E minor, similar to an Earth guitar. Do you play an instrument?" He sipped his Nebula and grimaced slightly.

"Just a little Rigelian Q'tar. It's like an Earth mandolin."

"Yes, I know it well. It would be beneficial to play together sometime. The Q'tar and lyre complement each other."

Claire wondered if the Blue Nebula was starting to affect her hearing. Uhura gave her a significant look, eyebrows raised, as if to say _Well, well, what have we here?_ Claire took a sip of her pale blue drink. Spock stood silently next to her, impassive as a rock. Christine was flirting with a security officer down at the end of the bar, already working on her second drink. "Help!" Claire mouthed silently to Uhura.

Uhura sidled up to Spock and put her arm through his. "So, darlin', what's new in your life these days?"

Spock proceeded to tell her about the new book he was reading on subspace energy fields. She looked raptly into his eyes as she sipped from her straw. Claire stood silently by, feeling like a fool, profoundly grateful when Christine rejoined her.

"So, Leonard's white cell count is still improving?" Christine asked.

"Yes, and his latest scan shows his liver is starting to regenerate."

Christine smiled. "I knew he was a tough old bird."

"Yeah, I think he's got a good chance now."

Christine suddenly leaned over and whispered into Claire's ear, "Spock's acting really weird! He never sticks around to talk!"

"I think he's drunk!" Claire whispered back. "Look at the tremor in his hand!"

"Well, _I'm_ definitely drunk," Christine said aloud. "And I've already got a headache. I'd better go to bed."

"Me, too," said Uhura. "You'll escort some drunken ladies back to their quarters, won't you Mr. Spock?"

"Certainly." He retrieved his lyre and followed the women out of the rec room.

They reached Christine's room first. She turned to Spock and said in a slightly slurred voice, "At the end of a date, I believe it's conventional to exchange a goodnight kiss, Mr. Spock."

"I hardly think this was a date," he said frostily.

"Oh, come on. It won't hurt you."

"Very well." He stood immobile as she reached up and kissed his cheek softly.

"Night, girls," she said, a wicked smile on her face.

They proceeded on to Uhura's room. Spock stood stolidly as Uhura planted a kiss on his other cheek. "Night, you two," she said sweetly. She winked at Claire as she went into her room.

When Uhura's door closed, Claire said quietly, "I'm not drunk, Mr. Spock. You don't have to play escort for me."

"I know," he said. "But I am going in that direction anyway, so it is logical to walk with you."

She shrugged her shoulders and continued on.

After a moment he said, "Doctor, I could not help overhearing your evaluation of Dr. McCoy's condition."

Claire sighed. "I sent you and the Captain the report from Dr. Koury as soon as I got it, Mr. Spock. I presume it's okay to tell Christine that one of her closest friends is showing genuine improvement?"

"Of course. I merely wanted to hear your evaluation. The report provided numerical data but not an expert opinion about the patient's prognosis."

"My opinion on looking at his scans and the patterns of his blood tests over time is that he has a greater than 50% chance of making a full recovery."

"That is welcome news," he said. "Perhaps we could talk sometime about the physiological factors at work in Rigelian hepatitis. I would like to know more about the disease."

"I'll send you some tapes on it. They will give you a more thorough analysis than I could."

After a moment he said, "Then perhaps we might meet to practice our instruments together."

"I haven't played in a long time, Mr. Spock, and I'm very busy with my other duties," Claire said coolly.

He was silent for another moment, and then he said awkwardly, "Doctor, I believe I may have given you the wrong impression when we first met. I questioned your competence in a way that was inappropriate. I hope that you will accept my apology."

They had arrived at her door, and she turned to him and hissed, "Oh, you damn Vulcans! You're all alike! You pull out the emotional talk when it suits you, moving humans around like chess pieces!" Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes.

Spock blinked at her. "Perhaps you did have too much to drink. We can talk at another time."

"No! Let's just have it out right now, and then I don't ever want to talk about it again! You Vulcans pride yourselves on your logic, on your lack of emotion, correct?"

Spock nodded.

"Did it ever occur to you that Uhura's lyrics might be true, that your lack of emotion might make you the most dangerous people to love or even just to befriend?"

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. You can't even begin to fathom the human heart. But let me tell you, I nearly lost my only sister to a Vulcan, to a cold-hearted genius who took advantage of her emotional nature, who impregnated her and then abandoned her and her child. At this moment he's stationed on Starbase 6 collecting his next young victims. Proceeding very logically, of course." Her voice was shaking. "Mr. Spock, I will work with you, I will do my duty by you, but don't you dare expect friendship from me!" She spun on her heel and strode into her room. As soon as the door had shut, she threw herself on the bed and cried.

* * *

><p>Spock stood at her door for a moment. He lifted his finger to the buzzer, a slight tremor in his hand, but he lowered it again. He would only make the situation worse, that much was clear.<p>

He walked down the corridor. Heat filled his abdomen. It took him some time to realize that it was anger, a feeling he rarely experienced at the conscious level. Perhaps it was something about medical doctors. _She hates Vulcans. One acts badly and she condemns us all. Such irrational bigotry!_ That was illogical, however. He had experienced anti-Vulcan bias from the day he left the Vulcan Science Academy and joined Starfleet. Humans were prone to prejudice of all kinds, and there was no use bemoaning the fact. _She accepts everyone else the way they are. It's just you she despises._ He paused and put a hand to his temple. A few seconds later he continued on. The issue was unimportant unless it interfered with their working relationship.

* * *

><p>"Wow. You look like you've got a worse hangover than I do."<p>

"Yeah, if that's what fake Romulan ale does to a person, remind me never to try the real thing," Claire said. She moved to the sickbay computer to pull up the duty list for the day.

"Did you at least get a goodnight kiss out of old stoneface last night?" Christine said.

Claire shook her head, lips compressed.

"You wanna talk about it?" Christine said.

Claire opened her mouth to say no, but what came out was, "I hate him!"

"What happened?"

"We got in a fight. Or, you know, I fought with him and he just stood there like a rock."

"What about?"

Claire sighed. "It's a long story."

"So tell me. I can wash these instruments while you're talking."

So Claire spilled it all. About her younger sister Marissa, the gifted empath who was following in their mother's footsteps and training to be a psychologist. About the brilliant Vulcan doctor she had met on Rigel 3. The way he had manipulated her by withholding affection and then surprising her with occasional tenderness. When she became pregnant he left, telling her he couldn't stand raising a child with an emotional weakling. Marissa became dangerously depressed until the baby was born. Claire's voice softened as she talked about her nephew, Michael – his loving nature and ever so slightly pointed elfin ears. There was a lot of Marissa in him and very little of S'Gar. Her voice sharpened again as she recounted the lurid gossip already swirling around S'Gar within only one month of his being stationed on Starbase 6.

Christine moved the tray of fragile glass pipettes to a counter on the other side of the room. She turned back to Claire and said, "He sounds like a real piece of work. But you know that Spock isn't like that, right?"

"He seems different," Claire admitted. "He was even rather kind on Tares 4, and I have trouble picturing him as a ladies' man. But how can I trust anyone who scoffs at emotions the way Vulcans do? I can't be friends with someone who doesn't respect the very thing that defines me."

"Let me tell you about Spock," Christine said. "I've loved him for a long time. I even pursued him for a while. Don't look so surprised. You know I've got Gene now, and I love him more than anything, but it doesn't stop me from flirting with the occasional crewman, and nothing in the world will stop me from loving Spock. I just realized at a certain point that we weren't compatible."

"Why not?"

"It's hard to explain. He's eternally fascinated by science, you know, and I get bored listening to all that talk about physics and chemistry, not to mention anthropology and history and philosophy and on and on. I love biology but I don't want to eat, breathe, and sleep science. I need a man who's more active, not so lost in his head all the time."

"Like the captain of a research vessel?"

"Exactly. I'm hoping I'll be able to join Gene there eventually. But what I'm trying to say is that Spock may be boring, but he's also one of the finest men I've ever met. Honorable, principled. He would never turn his back on a responsibility or act in the callous way that S'gar did."

"But his ethics come from adherence to duty. There's no feeling behind them!"

"Well, that's something you're going to have to learn for yourself as you work with him. I guarantee you, there's a lot more there than you realize."

Claire picked up a towel and started rubbing vigorously at an old acid burn on the counter top. "It's a moot point anyway," she said. "With Dr. McCoy making steady improvement I won't be here much longer."

"Have you thought about staying?"

Claire's hand stopped. "What?"

"We've got decent lab facilities. You could do your work here, maybe fill in for Leonard when he's off duty. We're all getting really attached to you."

Claire started rubbing at the spot again. "Impossible," she said gruffly.

Christine rolled her eyes. "You're as bad as he is," she said. "Just think about it, okay?" She turned and left.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Viacom, Inc. and Paramount, Inc. I wrote this story purely for fun and have received no monetary benefit from it._

* * *

><p>Chapter Five<p>

Claire peered through the old-fashioned microscope. She could have used the computer scope, but for some things this was better. The quiet of the tidy little lab embraced her. Most of the crew were eating breakfast or still sleeping. She had been up for hours and was working on her third cup of coffee, which was sitting on the lab bench beside her. She had made a lot of progress in the last two days. She hadn't been to the galley or the rec room, hadn't spent any time with her friends. She told them she had to work on this experiment. Her data files confirmed that she had indeed been busy. No time for anything except a few hours of restless sleep each night.

She frowned as she adjusted the focus. Could those be the first signs of the alteration in cell walls she had been looking for? She reached up to increase the magnification.

She jumped as the klaxon sounded. The shrill siren seemed to be aimed directly at her ear. Uhura's voice came over the intercom. "Red alert. All hands to battlestations. Repeat. All hands to battlestations."

Claire hopped off the stool and shoved her tray of cultures back in the fridge before she went to sickbay. The sickbay was already starting to fill up with corpsmen, nurses, and physician assistants, still pulling their uniforms on and trying to smooth down their sleep-tufted hair. They looked expectantly at her. Thankful for the three cups of coffee, she started issuing orders: get the trauma kits ready, confirm your team assignments, prep the operating area. Christine arrived and took some of the load. She'd been through a million red alerts; this was Claire's first as a chief medical officer. Thankfully the klaxon had stopped its shrieking. The red light blinked silently on and off.

The large screen on the wall suddenly turned on. Claire had never noticed there was a screen there before. "What am I looking at?" she said.

"The view from the bridge. The Captain's piping it to the whole ship," Christine said. Everyone in sickbay paused to gather around the screen.

She saw a field of black dotted with tiny stars. In the center was something that could only be a vessel, though it was a shape she'd never seen before. Not that that meant anything. She had never followed spaceship models the way some people did. This one might have been beautiful at one time. It was shaped like a giant arrowhead. The molten silver surface was badly scarred. Two corpsmen behind her were muttering to each other. They'd never seen anything like it either, but it appeared to have been in a battle.

Voices came over the ceiling speakers. "Still no response," Uhura said.

"Keep trying," Kirk said. "Anything yet, Spock?" Claire found it weird to hear them talking to each other up there, though it was better than having no idea what they were doing.

Spock's measured tones filled the room. "Unknown origin. I estimate they have twice the power of the _Enterprise_, but most of it is directed to shields and weapons, not speed. A ship built for battle, Captain."

"Shields up," Kirk said.

Everyone in the sickbay stood still, barely breathing, and watched the screen. The ship just sat there. Suddenly a beam of light emitted from it and at nearly the same instant the _Enterprise_ was violently jarred. Everyone bumped into everyone else and a few gasps of surprise were heard. The overhead lights flickered briefly.

Claire turned to Gallagher. "Keep an eye on the switchboard," she told him. He nodded his head. He was already watching the board for injury calls from other areas of the ship, but none of the lights were blinking.

She refocused her attention on the speakers. Kirk was receiving damage reports. It sounded like there wasn't anything too bad. Shields only slightly damaged.

Spock broke in. "It was a precise hit just above the engineering deck. They used only 5% of their available phaser power, Captain."

"A message?"

"It would appear so."

"But how did they know where to hit us?" Kirk said.

Suddenly a rich, bass voice filled the room. "_USS Enterprise_. This is Admiral Morg of the _Thessalon_. You will not be harmed if you meet our demands."

"Open a channel, Uhura," Kirk said. His voice swelled. "Admiral Morg, this is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation Starship _Enterprise._ You are in Federation space. Why did you fire on my vessel?"

"Yes, we know who you are Captain Kirk. We fired on you to persuade you of the urgency of our request. Do not attempt to resist or your ship will be destroyed."

"What request could be so urgent that it required you to fire on a peaceful Federation ship?"

"We request medical assistance. You will send your chief medical officer over to treat our wounded."

Kirk's voice vibrated with outrage. "Nobody will be beaming over until you lower your shields and establish peaceful relations with us."

There was silence. Another phaser beam shot from the alien vessel. The sickbay lurched under Claire's feet and she crashed into Christine. She heard breaking glass as something unsecured fell to the floor.

As she helped a fallen corpsman rise, she heard Kirk's voice issue a command. The background hum of the engines rose slightly in pitch as their own phasers were fired.

"No effect on their shields," Spock said.

"Our rear shields are down 20%!" Sulu said.

"Two injuries on Deck C!" Gallagher suddenly shouted next to her.

"Go!" Claire said to the C team. "Everyone else, be sure you have all your gear ready to go and then find a place to sit in case we get hit again."

The words were barely out of her mouth when the ship was hit again. This time they all lost their footing. Claire's head smacked painfully into a cabinet. The lights flickered again and the viewing screen went black.

She pulled herself to her feet and looked at the switchboard. Lights were going on from nearly every deck. She joined Gallagher and started answering calls, turning to bark out orders to the medical teams. The audio from the bridge had fallen silent. She tried to keep track of the number of injured so she could report to the Captain when he called. 25 so far, a few serious.

The wall intercom hailed her. She turned away from the board and pressed the switch. "Hollick."

"Doctor, report to the bridge with a medical team immediately." It was Spock's voice, sounding even more clipped than usual.

"Acknowledged." She released the switch and turned to the lead medical team. "Get a trauma kit and go to the bridge!"

Christine spoke in her ear. "It must be the Captain."

Claire gave an agonized look at the board and turned to Christine. "You'll organize the teams?"

"I've got it! Here's your bag, Doctor. Just go!" Christine shoved her toward the door.

Claire ran down the corridor, close behind the team with their trauma case and collapsible stretcher. She heard more phaser fire from the _Enterprise_ as they entered the turbolift. _Great. All that does is piss them off!_

When the lift doors opened the smell of ozone hit her. The air was smoky. People were rushing back and forth across the bridge, shouting information to each other. There was nobody in the captain's chair. She saw a Yeoman sitting on the floor to the left, holding her head. She pushed Lowry in that direction and motioned for Walton to follow her down to the command center. As she rounded the captain's chair she saw Spock kneeling over a prone figure. It was Kirk, flat on his back. She approached and saw a chunk of metal protruding from his chest, just above the heart. There was blood all over his gold uniform shirt. Spock was holding a wad of cloth on the wound. As she kneeled on the other side and placed her hand over Spock's, he looked up at her. His eyes for a moment were unshielded, despairing. Somebody yelled, "Mr. Spock! We've lost impulse engines now, too!" Spock's face hardened and he rose and sat in the captain's chair.

"Status, Mr. Scott," he said.

Scott's plaintive voice wailed over the intercom. "It's hopeless, Mr. Spock! The warp engines are gone and the impulse will take at least three hours to repair! Shields are down to 20%. We canna take another direct hit!"

"Channel all auxiliary power to the shields," Spock said.

"Aye-aye. That'll buy us a few minutes," Scott said in a resigned voice.

Walton started treating Kirk for shock while Claire investigated the wound. It looked like a piece of the ship had turned into a missile and impaled him. Bad news: it was a thick piece of metal. Good news: it looked like it just missed his heart and may only have nicked the lung. "Watch him for pneumothorax," she said. Walton nodded.

Spock had gone to the engine control panel to check the impulse power. Sulu and Chekov were at their stations, rigidly watching the main viewer, but Chekov kept sneaking glances over his shoulder to see the Captain.

"They're powering up again!" said Sulu.

"Brace yourselves!" yelled Spock.

The ship slammed back and forth as it was hit again. Claire threw herself over the Captain to protect him from any more debris. When the ship settled and she looked up, she saw Spock lifting Uhura from the floor and depositing her back in her seat. Suddenly there was a loud bang and sparks began to fly from the communications board. Spock wrapped himself around Uhura, blocking her from the board. He reached behind his back and turned something off.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," she said shakily as he released her.

Sulu called over. "Shields are gone, sir!"

Spock's lips compressed. "Do not return fire," he said grimly.

Under Claire's hands she felt Kirk stir. "Spock," he muttered, so quietly Claire could hardly hear him.

Spock rushed over. Gallagher yielded his spot and Spock knelt down. "Captain?" he said.

"Spock…you must…save the crew…nothing else matters." Kirk's eyes flicked to Claire. His lips curved in a small smile. "Doctor, I hate to ask…"

"I'll go," she said firmly. "Don't try to talk anymore." The blood was starting to pulse out of his wound again.

His eyes shifted back to Spock. "Spock."

Spock's hand was on Kirk's arm. "Understood, Captain," he said softly.

Kirk's eyes closed. Claire said, "Lowry! Walton! I need that stretcher!"

Spock returned to the captain's chair. "Lieutenant," he said over his shoulder, "can you hail the _Thessalon_?"

"Yes," Uhura said. "I can use the backup system." She turned to another board and started pressing buttons.

As Claire was helping roll Kirk's stretcher into the turbolift, the bass voice filled the room again. "Are you ready to surrender?" it demanded.

"Admiral Morg, this is First Officer Spock. We wish to hear the details of your request."

"You will beam over your chief medical officer, with medical equipment. He will come alone and he will be unarmed."

"What assurance do we have that our officer will be returned to us uninjured?"

The voice laughed deeply. "No assurance, you fools! Your shields are gone and your engines are out. I assume your captain is injured or dead. You have no choice." It paused. "However, as a gesture of good will, we will beam one of our officers to your ship at the same time."

"We will need ten minutes to prepare our medical equipment," Spock said.

"You have five. At that time we will give you the coordinates and lower our shields for the transfer. If you attempt to fire on us, your ship will be destroyed." The transmission cut off.

Spock flipped the intercom switch. "Mr. Scott. Can we get shields back in the next five minutes?" His lips flattened when he heard the response. He stood. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn." He saw Claire treating Uhura's burnt arm. "Come with me," he said to her as he headed to the turbolift.

When they were in and headed down, he said, "You will treat the captain. One of the corpsmen who has combat training will go to the _Thessalon_. They will assume he is a doctor, and even unarmed he may be able to-"

"No."

Spock reached out and stopped the lift.

Claire said, "I won't send one of my people to do my job." She turned to the intercom. "Hollick to sickbay. How is the Captain?"

"He just got here. He's stable," Christine said.

Claire told her what equipment to send over to the transporter room.

"Doctor, I gave you a direct order," Spock said.

"You can court martial me later. The Captain's wound is serious but not complicated. The staff in sickbay can handle it. I'm going to the _Thessalon_."

She reached over to restart the turbolift, but Spock grabbed her wrist. "Doctor," he said. "There is no more time for pretense. Do you have extrasensory capacities?"

She hesitated a moment, then nodded her head. "But only empathic. I can pick up on feelings and very clear intentions, not thoughts. And I can't transmit. It won't be any help!"

He released her wrist. "I may be able to help with that if you are willing to try something. Would you agree to a mindmeld?"

Claire felt her stomach turn over. She looked at Spock's face, but it was unreadable. "Yes," she finally said.

Spock looked down and started rubbing his hands together. "I do not know if the connection will work over this distance or how long it will last."

He looked up. Claire backed up against the wall, pinned there by his eyes. He stepped forward until he was towering over her and lifted his hand to her face. He extended his long fingers and gently pressed them against her cheek and temple. The tips were so hot she felt like her skin was melting. His other hand braced itself on the wall beside her. Claire looked up into his eyes. They were as deep and dark as space itself.

And then cool water flowed into her mind, as soothing as a mother's kiss on a fevered brow. Her thoughts, jumbled by the last hour's events, began to sort themselves into ornate crystalline structures. Equations poured into her consciousness and she suddenly grasped the gorgeous, origami nature of space-time. Her jangled emotions quieted. She felt only awe at the splendor of the galaxy. A small moan escaped her lips.

The connection broke. Claire's chest was heaving, and she could hear Spock breathing hard as well. She opened her eyes a bit and through her lashes she saw him leaning back against the opposite wall, eyes closed, skin pale.

"Was it as good for you as it was for me?" she murmured.

_Irrelevant. Are you able to understand my thoughts?_

_Yes. _"Oh my God, did I just say that without opening my mouth?"

_It is unlikely that the connection will last. Your mind is highly erratic._

_Can you read everything I'm thinking? _She started to get a panicky feeling in her stomach.

"Yes. There are ways to shield your mind, but there isn't time to teach them to you." He stood straight and twisted the turbolift control, his eyes avoiding hers.

Claire looked at the ceiling and tried to focus her attention on something other than the heat radiating from his body as he stood across from her. Something other than the way his hands had trembled when he saw how injured Kirk was. "What should I do when I get over there?"

"Attempt to ascertain their intentions. If possible, try to influence them to trust us and lower their shields." He looked into her eyes again. "Above all, Doctor, do not take unnecessary risks. You are a valuable member of this crew."

"Spock….If anything happens, I want you to know that I'm sorry for what I said the other night."

"I know." The lift halted. "Hurry," he said. They ran down to the transporter room.

The last thing she saw as she was energized was Spock watching her from behind the controls.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Viacom, Inc. and Paramount, Inc. I wrote this story purely for fun and have received no monetary benefit from it._

* * *

><p>Chapter Six<p>

Spock pulled out his phaser as the alien materialized on the transporter pad. It was a lifeform he had never encountered before. About 2.5 meters tall, it appeared to be reptilian, something like a giant, upright lizard. That did not bode well. In the Vulcan's experience, reptilian lifeforms were cold-blooded in every sense of the term.

Spock introduced himself while security checked the creature for weapons. The creature would only respond with name, rank, and serial number. He was Commander Skrull, a Ropilian. Spock escorted the green-gold being to the brig. There was too much confusion on board and too many wounded crew to have to worry about keeping a close watch on their visitor.

The confusion was in Spock's mind as well, a fact he found most disturbing. The mindmeld with the doctor had established an immediate and unusually strong bond. They were both scientists at heart, and their minds fit together easily, but the Vulcan had not been prepared for the flood of emotions that engulfed him as soon as they were connected. It was like being thrown into the ocean during a storm. But there was something else as well. When his mind had touched hers he suddenly had a vivid memory from his school days. He could not have been more than six. The children had been taunting him again for his slowness in calculus class, for his humanness. Usually he ignored them, but for some reason he couldn't that day, and he went home crying. His mother had immediately gathered him into her arms, without judgment or question. She just held him close and said, "I love you for everything you are, Spock. And I will always love you no matter what path you choose." He had not remembered that until today, but something in the memory made him feel drawn to Claire. There was something he needed from her.

But as soon as she dematerialized he lost the connection. He had felt a few small waves of something that might have been fear or perhaps anger, but it was not clear where they were coming from. It appeared that the mindmeld did not work and he would have to trust the Ropilians to be honorable. Trust did not come easily to him.

Before returning to the bridge, he stopped in sickbay. Christine and a physician's assistant were performing surgery on the Captain. Medical personnel were rushing around treating the other casualties. Two crewmen had died. One of the nurses stopped long enough to tell him the Captain was expected to be fine.

He entered the turbolift and leaned against the wall where Claire had stood ten minutes earlier. He closed his eyes. ROMULAN suddenly flashed in his mind. _Claire, is that you?_

…_Romulan officer here…_

Spock reached out but could not get any more. Deeply troubled, he strode onto the bridge and attempted to make sense of the havoc there. Uhura was wielding a soldering iron, repairing her main board. Two engineers were working on the engine control panel, talking to Mr. Scott over the intercom. Everyone else was cleaning up debris. A Yeoman scrubbed at the floor next to the Captain's chair. Spock's heart lurched in his side. What was the matter with him? He took a deep breath and pulled himself together.

"Status, Mr. Sulu."

"Their shields are back up, sir. No signs of phaser build-up. Our shields have been restored to 50%."

"Mr. Chekov, attempt to calculate the alien vessel's flight path. I want to know where it came from." Spock went to his science station and started conducting the scans there had not been time to complete earlier. If this was a Romulan vessel, that would complicate the situation.

Chekov looked over at him. "Sir? The wessel's flight path indicates it arrived from somewhere in the Romulan neutral zone."

Spock nodded grimly and pressed the intercom switch. "Mr. Scott. We may be dealing with a Romulan vessel. We need full shields and impulse engines as soon as possible."

He returned to the captain's chair and raised his hand to his temple. He tried to shut out the emotions that were buffeting him on all sides, being generated by the others on the bridge. Was this what it was like to be empathic? It was horrible. He reached out with his mind and started to see a hazy image, a pool of blue fluid on a green-gold background. It was blood on a wounded alien. Claire was suturing it. _Doctor._

_Spock?_

_What is happening there? Are there Romulans?_

_Many wounded. One Romulan officer._

_You must leave immediately. We may need to destroy the ship._

_No! They are peaceful. The Romulans have misled them._

_What do you mean?_

_The Romulans use them for battle. Told them not to trust the Federation. Told them only way to get help was to fire on Enterprise._

_How long will it take to treat them?_

_Half an hour more._

_Will they release you when you are finished?_

_Yes, but-_

Spock sensed a violent push and the communication was cut off.

* * *

><p>"Ow!" Claire yelped as she was pushed into the wall.<p>

"Who are you in communication with?" the Romulan officer demanded.

"Nobody! I'm trying to suture this wound. You made me burn his skin!"

"You're lying! I heard you talking to someone," Lavinia said. "Or did you not realize that Romulans have telepathic powers?"

"I don't know anything about that. I'm just trying to help out here." Claire shielded her mind as well as she could and tried to look stupid.

The statuesque officer raised her finely arched eyebrows and stalked out. Claire turned back to her patient. She'd lost count of how many wounded she had seen so far. When she'd first arrived the Ropilians had frisked her. They swiftly removed her communicator and the transponder Spock had injected into her arm. Then they hustled her to the bridge, where the worst damage appeared to be. The Captain had needed his arm set and he refused to go to the ship's medical suite. Fortunately, it was an easy wound to treat for a doctor totally unfamiliar with the physiology of these beings. It was on the bridge that she'd met Lavinia.

It quickly became clear that she was the source of the intense fear and suspicion emanating from the Ropilians. They were not naturally hostile or aggressive beings. On the contrary, as cold-blooded creatures they were usually slow-moving, given to long periods of pondering as they sat on their warmed chairs. They thought carefully before taking action. But the Romulan seemed to have convinced them that the Federation was not to be trusted and was bent on enslaving all alien races. Claire looked at Lavinia's delicately pointed ears and upswept brows and wondered if the rumors about Vulcan-Romulan ancestry were true. It was hard to imagine this one having the same DNA as Spock.

Claire finished her suturing and moved on to a broken leg. She was in the medical suite now, which was crowded with wounded crewmembers and too few nurses. Their doctor had been killed in whatever battle they had recently been in. Claire had convinced them to let her download physiology files from the computer onto her scanner so she could do her work. They resisted until she reminded them it would be a bad idea to treat internal injuries without knowing where the internal organs actually were.

She worked as fast as she could. Something was wrong with the ship. Everyone on the bridge was rushing around, muttering about fuel rods and looking worried. She had heard someone mention evacuation. If only she could reach Spock! It might be necessary to evacuate the Ropilians onto the_ Enterprise_.

* * *

><p>"Sir, I'm picking up funny energy readings from the alien wessel," Chekov said.<p>

"Please be more precise, Ensign," Spock said.

"Fluctuations in what I think is their engine core."

Spock went to his scanner. "Lieutenant Uhura, I need communication with the _Thessalon_ now."

Uhura turned to her newly repaired board and started punching buttons. She did the same with the backup board. "There's no response," she said.

Spock hailed Engineering. "Mr. Scott, readings indicate an instability in the _Thessalon_'s reactor core. We may need to evacuate the ship."

"They'll have to lower their shields. I can't transport them through that heavy shielding they've got. I can't even lock onto individuals."

"Understood. We have not been able to contact them. Is there a way we can lower their shields remotely?"

"Remotely? I suppose, if we could generate just the right energy wave it might interfere with their shields, but it could take hours to do the calculations!"

"Start making the calculations. I will join you momentarily."

Spock handed over the conn and left the bridge. His first stop was the brig. "Commander Skrull, your ship appears to be in trouble. We have lost contact with them. I need any information you can give me on the shields so that we can lower them and evacuate your shipmates."

"Skrull. Commander. 78934621."

"Your ship may be having a reactor meltdown. Everyone on board will die."

"Skrull. Commander. 78934621."

Spock tried to read Skrull's thoughts, but his mind was too alien. A mindmeld might work, but it would jeopardize the connection he had with the doctor, making it difficult to locate her. If he even had that connection anymore. He struck out at the metal-reinforced wall, leaving a large dent in it, before he left for Engineering.

Scott greeted him with a groan. "These calculations are going to take hours, Mr. Spock! They'll have blown up by then!"

"Let me see what you have so far." Spock looked at the numbers scrolling down the computer monitor. They swam in front of his eyes, meaningless pixels.

"Can't Claire try to get on the bridge and lower the shields herself?" Scotty asked.

"We have lost contact with her. They must have taken her communicator."

"Well, if I can get a lock on her location, I can try to beam her through the shield. Those calculations would take less time than these."

"Negative. Her transponder is not transmitting. It has likely been removed and destroyed."

Scotty sighed.

"Excuse me a moment, Mr. Scott." Spock turned away and faced the wall while Scott returned to the computer. The Vulcan steepled his fingers and closed his eyes. 48 seconds later, he rejoined Scott and started pressing buttons, fast and then faster until his fingers were a blur. Equations filled the screen.

Mr. Scott knew better than to interfere. He went to another station and monitored the activity on the _Thessalon_. The instability was becoming severe. He decided not to tell Mr. Spock just yet. There might be thirty minutes left. Perhaps the Vulcan would perform a miracle and calculate the wave function before then.

* * *

><p>Claire ran down the corridor, hoping she was going in the right direction. People were running in all directions around her, but most seemed to be going this way. Explosions rocked the ship every few minutes as systems failed. The Ropilians were preparing to evacuate by shuttle. Claire had pleaded with them to contact the <em>Enterprise<em>, but the fragile trust they had built up had disintegrated again. Half of them were convinced the _Enterprise _was firing on them. The other half thought their ship had been sabotaged. Claire was lucky they hadn't turned on her. They made it clear they weren't going to make space for her on the shuttles, but she followed them anyway in hopes of changing their minds. There were still a few unstable patients. They could use her.

Now that they were distracted she called out for Spock.

_Doctor…status?_

_Ship's falling apart! I'll try to evacuate with the others!_

_If you can….to bridge. Try to….shields._

_I'll try!_

Claire stopped and tried to remember how to get to the bridge. She turned and headed back to the hospital. It would be easier from there. She passed back through the large cargo area. Suddenly there was a loud "Boom!" and a violent blast of hot air. She crashed into a towering stack of silver containers.

She opened her eyes and tried to figure out where she was. A half-lit room somewhere, not familiar, debris all around her. Lights were flickering. She tried to move and cried out. She was held fast by a massive silver box. The _Thessalon_. Right. It was quieter now, fewer voices yelling. She must have been out for several minutes. Where had she been going? Spock told her to go…..Spock…..she reached out to him with all her might. Nothing. She sensed that the connection was lost.

She reached over with her free arm and tried to move the container. No. It had to weigh at least 80 pounds and she had no leverage. Not to mention, there were several other containers leaning precariously on it. Just to add to the fun, she was fairly certain her shoulder was dislocated. The waves of pain made her sick to her stomach.

She laid back and listened to the sounds of the dying ship around her. There was still hope. Scotty pulled off miracles for Kirk all the time. In some ways, though, it might be better not to be saved. Her secret was out. Spock would no doubt be obligated to report on her capacities, and the Federation would take over. They would reassign her to either espionage or psychological work, as they had her mother and sister. Empathic ability was so rare, none could be wasted. Her mother had been sucked dry by a lifetime of this work, and her sister was following closely behind. There were rumors of a race of empaths somewhere in the galaxy. Perhaps if they were discovered the pressure would be off. In the meantime, Claire hid her so-called gifts.

No! She had to fight for her life, whatever kind of life it ended up being. She shoved again at the container. She called out for help.

Footsteps. Someone was running in boots. Federation boots, not the soft-soled shoes the Ropilians wore.

"Doctor!"

"Oh, Spock, thank God! Get this damn container off me, will you?"

"Wait, Doctor. Stop pushing on it or the stack will fall." Spock began shifting containers. His blue shirt was rumpled and had scorch marks on it. Claire had never seen such a beautiful sight.

"Can Scotty beam us back?"

"Yes, but it would be significantly safer if your arm were released first."

The ship suddenly jerked and the massive containers toppled over. Spock threw himself down over Claire. She felt his body shudder as the metal cubes rained down around them. At last there was quiet and Spock shifted his weight tentatively. The stack held. He had enough room to slide off of her.

"Are you hurt?" his voice rumbled beside her in the darkness.

"I'm okay. Are you alright?"

He grunted what sounded like an affirmative. He was groping around next to her hip. In a moment there was a click and a soft light flared. Spock held up the penlight and surveyed the situation. Haphazard piles of containers surrounded them on all sides, leaning precariously. The overhead lights in the cargo bay had gone out.

"The good news is that I think I can get my arm out now," she said.

He moved aside to give her room to pull her arm free. She used her free arm to maneuver the damaged one out from under the container.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

"Dislocated," she panted. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and slowly sat up. Large spots of black bloomed in her visual field.

Spock pulled out his communicator. The case was dented. He opened it and looked at the twisted innards. He muttered a word she didn't recognize. It sounded Vulcan and it sounded profane.

"I am going to attempt to shift these containers and get to the ship's communication board. Protect your head."

"Wait. I can't do anything until I fix my shoulder. You've got to help me."

Spock looked at her. "Are you quite sure, Doctor?"

"Yes, dammit! Hang onto my hand and pull!"

Spock shifted to her other side and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. When she told him to pull, he did, smoothly and deftly. She shrieked, and her shoulder popped back into place. She buried her face in her hand and gasped with relief. Spock held onto her wrist for several seconds. Finally he released it and turned to the cargo containers.

"These are not stable," he said.

"Gee, you think?" she muttered. She was still resting her forehead in her hand, eyes closed.

"I believe I see your medical bag. I may be able to retrieve it."

"If you do I'll have your babies."

"I fail to follow your reasoning. Here it is." He handed over the bag.

She opened it greedily and pulled out a syringe. "Yes!" she sighed as she pressed the plunger directly into her bad arm. "I could kiss you, Mr. Spock. Now, how do we get out of here?"

"We will have to wait for Mr. Scott to beam us out."

"But your communicator is destroyed!"

"I have a transponder. If I don't contact him he will automatically energize in…uh…5.4 minutes from now."

"What? You had a transponder all this time? Why were you trying to shift the containers?"

"To reach medicine. You were in pain. Also, the ship is not safe."

"Oh, right. Um, when exactly is the ship going to blow up?"

"6.5 minutes."

Claire grinned. "I thought Kirk was the one who liked to cut things close."

Spock's lips curved into his barely noticeable version of a smile. "Doctor, I should think you know me well enough now to know that I do not take risks merely for the sake of taking risks."

"And you know me well enough to know I was only teasing you."

"Of course. I believe much about our natures has now become clear to us both."

Claire's lashes shielded her eyes. "Well…about that…"

"You need not worry that I will reveal what you wish to keep hidden."

She looked up at him. "You won't?"

"Your worries are understandable, Doctor, especially to someone who has seen his own race exploited," he said. "And if you remember, you also saw things I would not have had you see."

"Your mother."

This time his eyes dropped, the dark fringe of his lashes brushing his cheeks.

Claire reached over and put her hand on his blue-clad forearm. "Spock, why are you ashamed of your emotions?"

His downcast eyes were now focused on her hand. "I am a Vulcan. Emotions must be controlled if they cannot be eliminated." His eyes raised to hers. "But there are some emotions that can neither be eliminated nor controlled."

Her mouth went dry. "Are you ashamed of those emotions?"

There was a muffled roar of an explosion and the floor shook. Spock threw himself at Claire and knocked her flat. The full length of his body collapsed on top of her and he wrapped his arms around her head, holding it against his hard shoulder. The metal containers tumbled against them.

When everything was still, he slowly released her head. In the dim light, Claire looked up into his eyes. He was breathing hard. She smiled at him. "You okay?" she said.

He didn't answer. He just looked into her eyes, a faintly bemused expression on his face. He shifted his weight slightly and she became aware of a new development in their situation. It was pressing against her thigh.

"Uh…Doctor, I have a slight problem."

"Is it a problem?" she said, still smiling up at him.

"There are still two minutes until Mr. Scott beams us aboard. You know about Vulcan physiology. Two minutes is enough time for this to develop into a serious problem."

"Gosh, too bad you can't let me go."

"No. We need to remain in contact so Mr. Scott can lock onto us both."

She reached up and stroked his cheek. His skin was like a layer of velvet over the angular planes of his face. "Control, Mr. Spock," she said.

He closed his eyes and shuddered. "Claire," he said huskily. "You offered me something in return for getting your medical bag. Will you give it to me now?"

"Have your babies?"

"No, the other."

"I will, but only if you answer my last question. Are you ashamed?"

He opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers. "How could I be ashamed of this?" he said.

She reached up and pulled his head down to hers. Locked in a breathless kiss, they dematerialized.

* * *

><p>"What in blazes?" Scotty exclaimed as he saw what he had beamed aboard.<p>

Standing next to him, Christine just laughed.

THE END


End file.
